


seven pulsars (close to home)

by sangiebyheart



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, BE GAY DO SPACE CRIMES, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Minor Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Past and Present, Pilot!Yunho, Sexual Content, Space Criminality, Thief!Mingi, Trusting and Learning to Trust again, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29511258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: Yunho has not spoken the name in years. Not since the strange encounter with the man’s mother, almost a year ago, and even then, he had been loath to do so.Now, Yunho grips the comm in his hands tight, closes his eyes to the picture on his tablet, but Song Mingi is ever-present, long-persistent, behind his eyelids.“Fixer,” he says, like a confession. Like it is Yunho himself who has done wrong and must pay for his crimes.Or, Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi have a complicated past and a far more complicated present.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	seven pulsars (close to home)

**Author's Note:**

> hello yungi nation.  
> miss me?
> 
> some warnings beforehand!  
> minor descriptions of violence against mingi (very short, nothing too explicit), descriptions of injuries resulting from that (including chronic back pain) and uhm. for this chapter, I think that's it. let me know if I should tag more, etc. 
> 
> special, very special thanks to ele who has helped me IMMENSELY with sorting through plot questions, editing, and just general encouragement. i am eternally grateful to her for the love she has been given this fic so far. 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy this emotional rollercoaster ride.

Yunho’s day has been unnecessarily hard on him, especially for its young age. 

He has been tinkering on his ship, running a diagnostic and checking his controls for the prisoner transport in a few hours - quietly disabling the tracking system, making sure a false signal is sent to Headquarters so that, to them, they are en-route to the prisoner’s colony in the outer systems, and not, well, heading far outside of this quadrant with the prisoner, to a place without jurisdiction and no chance to arrest where there is no law.

Dread in his blood, the cold icicles in his veins felt every now and again when he hears the other mechanics approach his ship, only for them to pass and move on without acknowledging Yunho’s presence, let alone the illegal modifications he so fears being caught installing. Yunho’s hands do not shake, however, no matter how cold he might get, they are precise and focused, handling every tool and every order with the attention they deserve.

His resolve to finally set their plan into motion is great, surpassing any and every fear and replacing the free space with confidence - for if Jeong Yunho is anything, it is self-assured, full of trust in his crew and their skills and expertise, groundbreaking plans and clever schemes to break one of their own out of the safest jail in the entire Space Union.

It has taken months of surveillance, several more of infiltration, then of compliance, of pretension, but today - today, he and Wooyoung shall finally take San out of the clutches of the government and back into their own familiar realm, back into the safety of a lawless, crime-filled world they are so used to.

Today, they are getting their old life back, and Yunho will be damned if he lets anything get in the way of that.

But of course, there has to be something - the cluster of asteroids in their path, the unregistered supernova happening in just one system over, something that is going to throw them so much off course that they have no choice but to fly further, fly forward, side-lining trouble without chancing a glance to what is left behind.

To Yunho, this comes in the form of the prisoner file he is given as their departure time is nearing, fifteen minutes before the prisoner himself--before _San_ is supposed to be dragged onto the ship, half an hour before designated take-off. It is standard procedure, nothing new, nothing special, and Yunho rarely spares the documents a second look when it is not required of him - most of the time, he is meant to hand them over to the authorities of the colonies he delivers to, get a swirly signature here, a mandatory scan there, and he is on his way again, back to his duties as that one ace pilot from the Space Union Headquarters, fulfilling his duties as his superiors see fit for him.

Fortune smiles upon him, with mirth and glee, as the documents are transferred to the tablet in Yunho’s hand, and he almost discards them with a swipe of his fingers when his eyes catch on the name and picture, loud and glaring, and very much not the expected ‘Choi San’ nor the outdated photograph from the royal archives.

Instead, a man with a deep frown, pink lips turned downwards into a subtle pout, stares at him, doe eyes speaking of innocence as he holds up a sign with his name and prisoner data.

 _Fixer_. Birth Name unknown.

A thief. A criminal mastermind. 

A fraud.

_Arrested for theft on multiple accounts. Highly dangerous. Proceed with caution upon handling._

Yunho draws in a sharp breath before he turns to Seonghwa, his supervisor for the day, unable to refrain from asking, “Wasn’t I supposed to transport someone else today?”

Seonghwa, who had been half on his way to another ship departing within the hour, just shrugs, with his back already turned towards Yunho, a clear disinterest for Yunho’s inquiries.

But Yunho’s desperation beats harder and harder, strumming his vocal cords into action, “This must be some sort of mistake,” he calls after Seonghwa, “I was told—”

“What you were told, doesn’t matter anymore,” Seonghwa answers, too final a tone for someone who should not care as much as he does. The usually warm, soft eyes of his Yunho has so grown used to turn dead, shaky, meeting Yunho’s one last time, and Seonghwa walks closer again, bringing a nervous sort of air with him, freezing to the touch, and more icicles into Yunho’s blood. “There has been a change of plans. This one—” Seonghwa gestures to the open document on Yunho’s tablet with disdain— “is far more important than any other prisoner in this god-forsaken facility. Pays better, too. You should be grateful you were handed such a gem.”

Gratitude is the last thing that would pass Yunho’s tongue, if he were to open his mouth at this very moment. Seonghwa does not wait for a response before he leaves Yunho be, leaves him with his thoughts unraveling and panic settling into his every niche, nice and cozy and warm until Yunho feels hot then cold and hot again.

His remaining brainpower remembers to scramble for his communicator, high up on a console where Yunho had thought not to need it today, and he calls for Wooyoung on their secure channel, shaking hands resting against the metallic surface.

Wooyoung’s voice comes high and clear, rugged breathing on the other end of the line, “Yunho, what is happening? Why haven’t they asked me to transfer Sannie, yet?”

Yunho swallows, “I’m not—He’s not going to be put on transport today. I just got the news. There’s—” Yunho bites his lips, balling his free hand into a fist— “There’s someone more important. Paying better.”

A beat, then, “ _Fuck_!”

Yunho knows their time is limited now. It is too late for him to call off the entire procedure, for it would raise him into the spotlights and mark him as suspicious, but their plan—their plan is, without a shadow of a doubt and irrevocably so, an impossible endeavor to push through today. Or any other day, come tomorrow, for that matter.

But he cannot tell Wooyoung that - there is still hope, there is still a chance to get their friend and crewmate back, they just have to get a lot more creative.

“I know this is not the most ideal situation, but we’ll find a way to get him out of here, I promise you,” Yunho reassures him, as he knows one of his best friends like the back of his hands, knows that for all the fear and anguish he has been feeling these past few months already, the thought of his fiancé suffering under these inhumane circumstances for even a day longer must pain him to no end. “San is—San knows how to survive. They won’t hurt him, he is far too valuable to the—”

“Not valuable enough,” Wooyoung spits into the comm, “Who’s the fucker I gotta kill to make room for Sannie on that damn ship?”

“Wooyoung, be careful, you don’t know who might—”

“ _Who_ ,” Wooyoung repeats in a definite growl, obviously fuming underneath his skin. He must be alone somewhere, if he dares to let his anger breathe like this, after months of holding back to keep up with the role he intended to play, the dutiful guard in the very same prison San is held in.

Yunho has not spoken the name in years. Not since the strange encounter with the man’s mother, almost a year ago, and even then, he had been loath to do so.

Now, Yunho grips the comm in his hands tight, closes his eyes to the picture on his tablet, but Song Mingi is ever-present, long-persistent, behind his eyelids.

“ _Fixer_ ,” he says, like a confession. Like it is Yunho himself who has done wrong and must pay for his crimes.

“No fucking way,” Wooyoung replies, and it is like a switch has been flicked, because his voice softens. “Fuck, are you okay?”

Yunho does not know how to answer.

“Just—try and find out what they are doing with San. Call me back as soon as you can. Be careful.”

“...You too, please,” Wooyoung says, low voice asking for Yunho’s promise.

“I will,” Yunho allows.

He ends the call.

Braces himself. Fiddles with the chain of his necklace.

Caution is advised, after all, when meeting a thief of the past.

— 

This story begins with a joke.

A thief walks into a bar.

The thief is rather renowned for his deeds, in this quadrant of the Space Union. A man with a list of crimes so long, it would cover the distance between the two moons of this planet and might just take you right on the flight back, too.

Yunho recognizes him in the very second he enters the establishment, all confidence and smugness and flair etched into the easy smirk on his face, hair a deep, unnatural red that bleeds through the stark gray darkness of the bar. There is no need for him to open his mouth and Yunho still knows that he is loud, charming, probably gifted with his tongue.

Yunho recognizes him, not because of his look, not because of the very handsome features the thief had bragged with upon contacting Yunho - no, none of that foolishness.

It is his attitude that is striking, that turns heads, it is the way he stalks into this place as though he does not make it a secret that it might soon belong to him if he just so wishes to take it - no doubt he is already plotting, planning, scheming, winking at the bartender who throws him a frown so deep, so annoyed, it must be out of the habit of seeing him.

Familiar territory to the thief, Yunho presumes - unfamiliar, strange, a little too ominous for his own tastes. Definitely not a place Yunho tends to frequent, nor the type that Wooyoung would drag him to in hopes of gathering some intel whenever they needed it.

It was sketchy, to say the least. Yunho likes to think that he and Wooyoung are--well, maybe not classy, per-se, though their clientele is a bit more sophisticated, a bit dirtier on the side, not in plain sight - they seek out people like Yunho, like Wooyoung, to do their collecting of rare artifacts, rarer alien species to prepare as pets, or just get rid of some money that would otherwise fall to the banks of the Space Union, a safe and simple way to lose fortune to a well-meaning system - and when did rich people ever prefer to play fair?

Long, unnecessary story short; Yunho feels out of sorts in this type of environment, but that does not mean he is stupid enough to let it show. He may appear soft around the edges sometimes, perhaps does not fit in with all of the low-life criminals gathering here for their nightly drinks, but there is a fight behind the facade, a strong man well-versed in the arts of self-defense.

(Or, selectively, in the arts of offense, if someone rubs Yunho the wrong way.)

So, as suspicious as Yunho regarded the offer to meet up with one of the most infamous thieves of the universe, he knows he has enough of a fighting chance should things go south - Fixer, as he likes to be called apparently, is not known for his own brute force, after all. Flexibility, agility, strength, yes - Yunho is aware that Fixer advertises his excellent stealing skills with these hard-earned attributes.

Amongst other, more… extravagant ones.

When Fixer finally saunters over to him - probably thinking his movements are all suave, when in truth, Yunho has noticed him circling Yunho for a good five minutes before finally approaching him - he appears at Yunho’s right side, calling to the bartender for a glass of water, which Yunho finds--well, odd. Not a soul goes here to stay sober, even Yunho is nursing a glass of the house’s best Daliburian Wings Brandy, which tastes as bad as it sounds, but Yunho is only trying his hardest not to stick out like a sore thumb.

For a thief, Yunho muses, it is quite concerning that Fixer does not appear to share the same goal.

“Come here often, beautiful?” is Fixer’s opening line, his voice defying any and all expectations Yunho has had of it upon first sight of its owner, and Yunho has to hold back a snort. Men who think so highly of themselves, drip of confidence in a manner that screams of underlying insecurities, do tend to make a fool of themselves when introducing themselves to a potential partner - in business only, of course.

Yunho chances a glance at Fixer, who is now finally bold enough to address him. Yunho pretends ignorance of the man's identity, raises an eyebrow at him as if he were any other patron visiting the bar. Now right before him, Yunho uses the opportunity to inspect him properly, lets his eyes roam over broad shoulders clad in a printed shirt, tacky in an off-putting sense, but Fixer pulls it off, weirdly enough. Three buttons left to be clasped, chest wide open for Yunho to see and ogle at, if he was not such a gentleman.

Yunho does have to admit that Fixer is _hot_ , as he so promised to him in the messages prior to the meeting. Fixer is hot in every acceptable meaning of the word, unbelievably so, it irritates Yunho a great deal, and worst of all, it almost makes his introduction charming - or it would, if they were anywhere else, not about to have a business meeting upon Fixer’s own request, and Yunho cannot help but find it just a tad inappropriate.

Though that does not make the urge to mess with Fixer disappear, unfortunately.

“Is this seat taken?” Fixer asks him, eyes yet another reflection of the smirk on his lips - a sea of certainty, of recklessness, watchers of mischief unfolding before them when Fixer follows his inner calling.

Dear, oh Dear, Yunho already wants to ruin him. Or ruin himself, for being so attracted to someone so— _exaggerated_ , no questions asked, no conversation held.

He summons his best cheekiness, lowers his voice to match Mingi’s, and replies, “Depends who is asking to take it.”

“Just someone who’s interested in you,” Fixer explains, trying to sound casual. Yunho has to bite his lower lip, or else he might burst into laughter, and oh, how that will expose him before their little game has even properly started.

“That so?” Yunho counters, giving Fixer a lopsided grin before turning away to take a swig at his drink. For courage, he tells himself, to focus on the weird taste on his tongue rather than the words that fall off them. “I’m kinda waiting for someone, actually. You might know him, he’s called Fixer. Odd name, don't you think?"

Yunho does not miss the twitch of Fixer’s eye at the comment, “I think it’s a pretty cool name. Has a nice ring to it. Easy to remember.”

“A nice ring, you say?” Yunho hums, in faux consideration, speaking only when he arrives at his own conclusion. “Well, to me it sounds a bit—confusing, you know. What is ‘Fixer’ even supposed to mean? Is he fixing someone else’s broken machinery? Last I checked, thieves weren’t mechanics. Not professionally at least.”

Fixer’s jaw is set, barely concealing the affront he no doubt experiences at having his very alter ego questioned and made fun of. Still, he does his best not to let Yunho know of it, unaware that he already does, and replies, teeth grinding, “I’ve heard—I’ve heard it’s because he is _fixing on_ the goods he steals, asks to be fixed on in return, for his very clear and obvious expertise at what he does.”

“Mh, but if he is fixing _on_ something, wouldn’t that make him the ‘Fixing One’. No, wait, the ‘On-Fixing’? _Fix On Man_!” Yunho winces at that last one, “Oof, tough choices, those are, I see why he chose ‘Fixer’ in the end - it does roll off the tongue better.”

The ensuing gape this suggestion leaves in its wake has Yunho crack up, in the end. 

“What, you a fanboy of his or something?” Yunho smirks, raising his eyebrows at Fixer, “I didn’t mean to insult your idol.”

Realization at last flashes across offended features of a thief, smoothing out the frown on this handsome face that has known so much trouble within the span of two minutes, when all he had wished to do was to flirt and charm his way into Yunho’s liking.

“You talk a whole lotta shit, you know that?” Fixer scoffs, in good nature at least, shaking his head to prove that he can take this elaborate joke Yunho has made of him. “How’d you know it was me?”

“It’s not often people get chatted up in these types of places,” Yunho says. “Not really setting the mood right, if you ask me.”

“So, I take it you _don’t_ come here often, beautiful,” Mingi replies, bold enough to wink afterward.

“Only upon request,” Yunho explains, swirling the glass in his hand, watching the coppery liquid move in circles to chase Yunho’s movements in a delayed dance. “So let’s get to business; what is it exactly you want from me, Fixer?”

Fixer does not answer him right away, taking a beat and another to bask in the disappointment that Yunho will not further indulge in any sad excuses of flirting.

“I need a fast pilot. A quick way to get in, a quick way to flee the scene once the deed is done, preferably both without getting noticed,” Fixer lays out in the open, and Yunho certainly expected as much - or as little, though the implication alone speaks of more than just five simple words.

“So you thought of me? I’m flattered. Was I your first choice?” Yunho wonders, though in truth, he does not really want to know. It is not like it matters much to him, if he is sought after or not, he has his own trusted connections, people he knows are good at their work and people who think as highly of him, and rarely does anyone ever approach him for jobs outside of his inner circle.

Fixer had been one of the first people to ask for him, specifically - not for the package that him and Wooyoung were known for - having heard of his reputation, no doubt, and contacting him through a mutual acquaintance, a royal from the outskirts of the system, unimportant in the grand scheme of things but a chess player in the shadows that Wooyoung often meets whenever there is a particularly long downtime in-between missions.

Choi San is the only reason Yunho has agreed to meet Fixer - he trusts Wooyoung with his life, Wooyoung especially trusts San with his heart, so if San can find it within himself to trust one of the most notorious thieves in their lifetime, then perhaps, Fixer may just be worth Yunho’s time.

“You were, actually,” Fixer confesses, and although Yunho has heard that Fixer is an excellent liar without even trying, Yunho finds that he believes him. “There’s a lot of, well, skilled pilots out there, and I won’t lie, most of them should have been my first choice but... I don’t know. I think with most of them, I’d just be tempted to screw them over.”

Now, an honest liar is not what Yunho anticipated coming here tonight.

“What makes you think you won’t screw me over?” Yunho asks, eyebrows raised.

“In spite of - or, perhaps even because of all the shit-talking you did, I somehow do not think you’re an asshole. And I only screw over assholes,” Fixer swears, “you know, as a rule. Gotta have some morals.”

Yunho thinks it might just be a little bit hypocritical to speak of morals as a criminal, but what does he know, really, when he is hardly any better?

“Good to know, then,” Yunho hums, but does not allow the much-desired answer to pass his lips yet. There is still a bitter aftertaste he cannot shake, and he much regrets ordering the abomination in his hands, and he has half a mind to steal from a thief, erase the foreign sensation from his mind to make a clear judgment.

He is hurried on his way, when Fixer’s patience does not have the intention to wait it out.

“So, you interested?”

“How, when you’ve barely told me anything?” Yunho counters, leaning against the bar counter with one arm, facing Fixer with a no-nonsense sort of expression. “I’m not interested in being your chauffeur for next to no money.”

“Fair, fair,” Fixer relents, holding out his open palms as if to hand him the money right away, a matter of appeasement before Yunho might demand even more of him. “I don’t mind coming your way. We can do twenty-eighty, as a compromise.”

Yunho snorts, “Cute. Fifty-fifty, or I won’t hear the details.”

Fixer’s eyes all but fall out of their sockets, “I’ll be doing most of the work, thirty-seventy is the most I’m offering you here.”

“Bold proposition for someone who couldn’t even do the job without me. I know what I’m worth, pay me accordingly or I’m walking out of here,” Yunho tells him, downing his drink in one big gulp before setting the glass back down on the counter with a bit too much force, though the sharp clang drowns in the steady noise of the bar. The alcohol in his veins does nothing but swim along, almost floating, but his head is level enough to fix the thief across from him with a look of resolution, severity set in brows and lips, forming a frown that hides genuine intrigue.

Fixer takes a second to consider, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth. His fingers drum against the surface of his glass of water, subconsciously so, but his eyes remain fixed on Yunho.

“I’ll give you forty,” Fixer says, with an intonation so different and serious, it appears Fixer, too, shall not accept any further argument from Yunho. “Plus, I’ll offer you some leverage. I won’t blame you for using it against me if I don’t pay you, or screw you over, you can count on it as a sort of security.”

“What kind of leverage?” Yunho asks, calculating his odds.

“My name.”

“Your… name?”

“My real name,” Fixer says. “If you agree, I’ll give you the name my mother calls me by. Only a few select people know of it, and a name goes a long way of ruining some people in our line of work, don’t you think?”

Yunho does not like to admit it, but if anyone knows what meaning something so simple as a name could hold, it is definitely him - Yunho himself had left an old name behind upon his departure from the orphanage he and Wooyoung grew up in, and neither of them have ever looked back since.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, indecisive whether to accept or not, “Goes a bit too far, doesn’t it? Revealing your true identity to the entire galaxy.”

“If you find yourself in a position to think that you have to, then I deserve it,” Fixer swears, and there is no doubt that he means it.

“Forty-five,” Yunho says, weakly. A last-ditch effort, though he is probably going to agree either way.

Giving up your name to a stranger shows the willingness to be vulnerable, to be sincere with yourself and the one you share the secret with.

Perhaps, Yunho puts too much weight into something that might not even be a second thought to Fixer.

Perhaps, Fixer mentioning his mother is meant to soften Yunho up, push him into compliance.

Perhaps, Fixer knows. He seems like the type to do his research before meeting up with someone. 

Contrary to other people.

“Deal,” Fixer says, pulling Yunho out of his hurried panic response. “Forty-five for you, Fifty-five for me.” Then, he stands from the barstool, waits for Yunho to do the same, then extends a hand to him with the words, “Song Mingi, a pleasure to make business with you.”

“Jeong Yunho,” Yunho introduces himself, reaching out to shake the offered hand with vigor, a smile on his face. “The pleasure is all mine.”

—

Yunho cannot tell whether time passes fast or slow until the news finally sinks in - it is all the same to him, standing there in the small control area, ceilings barely high enough to have him stand upright, even if his knees had not given out under the weight of failure and heartbreak. Wounds afflicted long ago, yet still fresh as though the grip on him is still strong, the hold unreleased - perhaps even torn open after they have healed, crooked and wrong, but healed regardless. 

The gravity would remain similar.

It does not suffice to keep them from executing a plan which has taken them months of sacrifice to even get underway, to prepare - no, there has to be another catch, another punishment before the crime, and Yunho has the urge to run far away from here, though rationality, in its last power reserves, tells him that there is no going back now, not for him.

His sole consolation is that he shall not see much of Fixer on their journey to the prison colony - he is going to lock him up in the holding cell, turn on voice-canceling, and shall pretend ignorance of the thief just a few meters away from him for eight hours straight. It may not be his most ideal solution, but it is all he has, at the moment.

When he hears a commotion outside, Yunho realizes that—for better or for worse—he is going to have to pretend a lot of things, neutrality for one, inconspicuousness on top of that. He must not let it show that the very distinct lack of Choi San has rattled him, nor that his replacement is someone he has known in ways a government officer might not be supposed to know a delinquent of such high degree.

Yunho has imagined this moment countless times before, gradually less so as the years turned by and his hopes into dreams into illusions, before Yunho came to accept that he might never get to see him again - for the sake of his mental state, Fixer had been more dead than alive, if only so Yunho could have some semblance of closure.

He should have known their story has not been written to completion yet, what with the abrupt and unexpected cliffhanger many would have interpreted as a bad ending.

Yunho appears as firm and dutiful as he can be, when two guards request entrance to Yunho’s vessel and three seconds are barely enough to take another deep breath to settle his buzzing nerves. Yunho presses the buttons on the control panel to open the hatch and turns around, pushes on the mask of hardened features before his footsteps are but an echo in the metal hallways.

Yunho converses with the guards, almost friendly, almost familiar, as though they are not currently delivering Yunho’s very own enemy of the state right into his arms. The eyes on him spread a fire within, even as Yunho is so adamant about refusing to meet them to preserve whatever little scraps of sanity he may yet possess - all he catches, somewhere between a slip of his determination and a desperation he has thought to have buried with all other grievances that came with having once known Song Mingi, is dirty blond hair, longer than he remembers it.

It used to be red. Sticking out like a sore thumb. Like a bleeding thumb.

Though now; now that the guards leave him, signing Yunho’s papers, and shoving Fixer none-too-gently into the holding cell, Yunho discovers a truth he had forced into a temporary sleep in the last few years, one that is unforgettable, a lifelong companion you did not ever ask for:

 _Fixer_ \- thief, fraud, criminal mastermind - has no need for bold colors to draw attention to himself. He manages just fine, even without.

“Yunho…” Fixer breathes, in the same instant the guards have gone out of earshot. Yunho keeps his eyes focused on the tablet in his hand, the thousands of pages of documents piling one after the other as he scrolls without much of a purpose in mind except for avoiding Fixer’s appeals to remains of a soft core.

There is a glass wall between them; Yunho could type in a code into his tablet, even manually flick a switch somewhere around this damned ship to suffocate Fixer’s attempts at conversation in the hopeful inkling, but Yunho willfully delays the procedure. 

He delays because—because the first time he has heard _Song Mingi_ speak to him in three stupidly long years, and it is Yunho’s _fucking_ name that crosses this silver tongue.

His throat burns with searing anger. His eyes sting with the diamonds of a past long gone. His mouth is impossibly dry, edges chipping off piece by piece until Yunho is incapable of his own speech.

“ _Fixer_ ,” Yunho says, reading someone else’s words from his tablet. “You are sentenced to—”

“Yunho, please,” Fixer interjects, hands knocking at the glass between them in an uncomfortable twist, with his wrists in the restraints of the cuffs. 

“You are sentenced to a life at the prison colony of Marid—”

“I am innocent, Yunho,” Fixer swears, tilting his head down so that he may catch Yunho’s eyes from below. Yunho closes them when he catches a glimpse, minuscule, a nanosecond at best, but his voice stumbles through the mandatory speech he has to give before he can take flight.

“The transport will take approximately eight hours and 52 minutes in standard Earth units, there will be no stops along the way, and you will immediately be handed over to the authorities of Marid upon arrival, without a trial. Is that all clear?”

Yunho does not know why this is a part of his job description as the pilot; when he had asked, his supervisor had claimed it to be a necessity, a display of some sort of mercy in the form of bureaucratic normalcy. As though a prisoner cares where they are transported, how long it will take until their ultimate lifelong doom will consume them whole and suck the soul out of their body.

Innocence or guilt, neither play a true part, Yunho has learned - government authorities have one thing in common with the criminals they convict, and it is the relativization of innocence in and of itself. To them, even a suspect has lost all parts of it. A criminal is aware that good people, with sound morals, with a clean slate, do not exist, have never existed in the billions and trillions of years past and future.

Whether Fixer - _Mingi_ \- is innocent in one regard, guilty in the other, it does not matter to anyone but himself. The illusion of the Space Union is to pretend as though it does retain its meaning, in spite of counterevidence piling up that even the trusted government is only ever eager enough to sell out criminals to those who pay impossible amounts of money for them, true justice to the rich and no one else. 

Yunho wonders who paid for Fixer to rot in the lifeless realms of Marid.

“Yun—”

“Is that clear?” Yunho repeats, harsher than before. His jaw is starting to hurt with how hard Yunho grits his teeth into immobility.

“Yes,” Fixer replies, tone and demeanor meek as his palms fall from the glass. He shrinks back into the cell, back against the wall, though Yunho knows his wide eyes have not left Yunho. 

He doubts they ever will.

“Good,” Yunho says, and decides to be a little merciful. His heart begins to ache the moment he lifts his head from the tablet, glances at Fixer out of the corner of his eyes and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Yunho turns on his heel before hideous droplets have a chance to flow, or Fixer discovers that Yunho is not as resistant to him as he ought to be.

Ground control is calling through the comms in the cockpit, a shrill alarm Yunho has tried and failed to turn off time and time again, and Yunho has to leave the small hub to answer before suspicions rise. Yunho must have already taken longer to prepare than allowed.

Take off feels a lot like a free fall.

—

“Sit still, for fuck’s sake,” Yunho reprimands him for yet another time, as Mingi hisses and jerks from the pain in his lower back.

“Easy for you to say, you didn’t get shot,” Mingi complains, voice a strain of exhaustion but never-ending fight, and then Yunho presses the cloth, wet with the stench of antiseptic, close to the open cuts on Mingi’s face, dabbing at them even as Mingi’s face contorts in a grimace that makes Yunho’s life far more difficult than it has to be.

Yunho hums, holding Mingi’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to steady what little he can control, and replies, almost casually, “Yes, because I did not take detours through the museum to the agreed meeting point and just took the shortest way back to the ship, like we said.”

“It was worth it,” Mingi tries to smirk, but winces when his muscles move right into Yunho’s dangerous touches, breathing through the sparks of pain shooting through his body at the unpleasant sensation.

Yunho is unsure how gathering three more paintings from the Old Ages could be worth more than risking a shot to the spine, but Yunho has come to know Mingi as a peculiar person with peculiar priorities, one that is after the money he can make at the end of a night, one that spots opportunities from a galaxy’s distance away, so he does not question Mingi’s line of thought.

And besides, Mingi could have almost gotten away with it.

Mingi is a fast runner, Yunho has learned - a skill which comes from a lifetime of being chased around and trying not to get caught. For usually, consequences are not too far behind, quick on their feet and bellowing like wild creatures with sharp teeth hunting for their food.

This art heist had been on their agenda for half a year almost, a special request made by an anonymous client willing to pay the items’ worth and more. Yunho had spent the better part of three months just hacking himself through the entire security system of the museum in an effort to reach an understanding of its general structure, its strengths, and more importantly, its weaknesses.

They struck not even a day after he had figured it out.

Now, eight hours after the deed had been done, in orbit of a planet two systems away, as relative as safety could ever get for them, and Yunho is busy cleaning Mingi’s wounds - for sometimes, in the rarest of times, even Mingi cannot outrun laser shots grazing his spine, nor the blunt ends of a knife pointed at his face. Yunho had shut the lights off before anything worse could happen, and had thus given Mingi a fighting chance to escape, three extra paintings in the Processor Cube by his hips.

The Cube contains five of the museum’s rarest artifacts, priced at a value equal to the crown jewels of Sixte’s royal family.

Now, Yunho would have been satisfied with the money this job made them from just that - Yunho has never had the pleasure of acquaintance with such a generous client, though it did not take much convincing to agree to his terms when there was so much money on the line.

Puzzling, then, why Mingi would go and be reckless for something they might not find a middleman for.

“How’s your back doing?” Yunho asks, biting down on curiosity for now. There would be time later, when they are not as exhausted as they are, and Mingi will have had a good night’s rest and a clear head.

“Hurts like a bitch, but I suppose it could have been worse,” Mingi grumbles, closing his eyes when Yunho’s hand cups his cheek, as gently as he possibly can. Yunho is careful with him, slow in his movements, almost testing, for you never know what may lie beneath undamaged skin, unbreached as it is.

Yunho inspects the cloth in his hand, reddened with the remnants of Mingi’s blood. “It wouldn’t have happened at all if you—”

“Can we drop it, Yunho?” Mingi asks, eyes of fatigue watching him with a silent plea. “I know it wasn’t a smart move. But it’s got us richer now, so what does it matter?”

Yunho throws the cloth aside, discards it into the unimportance of the ship’s metal floor, and then he levels Mingi with a look so fierce, there could be no mistaking its meaning, not with the words that accompany it, “ _You_ matter, Mingi. If I hadn’t gotten the lights out in time, or they wouldn’t have missed you by a hair’s width, who knows what would have happened to you?”

Mingi sighs, reaching his hand up to cover Yunho’s, “It was a calculated risk. It’s not the first time it happened and it won’t be the last.”

“Sooner or later, it’s going to be the last risk you’ll ever take, though,” Yunho reminds him.

And it sounds grave, final. As though he expects Mingi not to survive through his next endeavors; which he does not, not with the faith he holds in Mingi. But it is easy to forget that they are so vulnerable, especially after over a year of working together and everything running as smoothly as it possibly could.

Yunho supposes luck is not an eternal good for their kind, and perhaps it rattles him to this extent because—Mingi _matters_ , to him, and so much so. And if there were a choice between Mingi’s luck and his own, Yunho would not hesitate to hand it all over, pile it on top of Mingi so that he may get away with any recklessness he desires.

“I’ll make it later rather than sooner, I promise,” Mingi squeezes Yunho’s hand “The universe hasn’t gotten enough of Fixer just yet. And you haven’t had enough of your share of Mingi.”

It makes Yunho match the slight smirk on Mingi’s face, this prospect of receiving _more_.

“I can’t wait, then,” he says, and lets Mingi pull him in for a kiss, unhurried, soothing, gentle.

They say that love is a losing game, especially with thieves.

Sometimes your heart gets stolen and never returned, sometimes you give it willingly and it is held right in front of you, in someone else’s eyes as they fade from your vision.

Sometimes it is taken into the void of space, and you are left freezing to the bone without, knowing your heart beats in the bitter cold and has no one to breathe a steady warmth into it.

But they forget that Yunho is a pilot, a mechanic, a hacker.

And that he always finds a way to steal his property right back, if need be.

—

And he never thought that he had to.

Or that he would ever have the chance.

His ship is programmed to send his coordinates back to Headquarters every fifteen minutes, and with the modification Yunho has built into the system, it would not even matter if he were to indulge in a different route, or even deter from his path to Fixer’s tragedy altogether. This had been the plan were it San in his holding cell, not Fixer, though now, Yunho cannot even think of committing treason to an authority he has never even been loyal to - not before Wooyoung has not sent a transmission, a sign, anything for Yunho to go on to decide for his future.

Yunho may not have all the answers at the moment, though there is an unease settling into the practiced comforts of his stomach that comes at the thought of going on the run with the very man who had broken his heart not three years ago.

Yunho is no man of morals; whatever Fixer has done to get himself arrested, it could hardly be any worse than anything they have pulled off together. Setting a criminal free of his confines - Yunho’s day has been about just that from the beginning, when he had still thought it was San he would be breaking out of prison with little bravado. It mattered to him to rescue San from a place of suffering, not how much backlash it might cause, in the end; they never expected many people to care all that much, for nobody truly knew who it was that they had in their claws, not when Wooyoung and him made sure of that many years ago.

With Fixer, he would be taking higher risks, even outside of the Space Union’s more prevalent sectors - three years ago, he would not have wasted a single second to unnecessary thought to make his decision, but he cannot pretend as though their time apart has not changed everything between them.

Maybe Yunho could regard the situation more clearly, with a neutral eye, if they had parted under different circumstances.

If Yunho had not been left alone to ponder over his shortcomings on a day that could have held importance akin to the big bang, but turned out to be no more than the birth of a black hole - it is poetic, in a way, watching a giant star die and lose all of its brightness in a flash and a second.

Yunho is surrounded by darkness, most of the time, so he is used to an endless void sprinkled with the life and death of hydrogen and helium, but it is different when it settles into your heart, even for a little while. It upends you, sooner or later, because you cannot escape it lest you defied the very laws of physics they are defined by.

Gravity is no fragile thing.

In fact, Yunho would argue it is the one universal constant causing trouble anywhere it is, or is not.

Emotional gravity has turned Yunho’s life upside down several times in the last sixty minutes alone. He does not have to be a scientist to know that it shall do so in the coming four-hundred-seventy-seven minutes as well.

And Yunho is restless, practically bouncing in his pilot seat, watching Fixer on the little monitor on his top left side do—nothing, everything, anything in his repertoire that does not qualify as sitting still. It is rather unnerving to watch, and not because Yunho is seeing his _ex-boyfriend_ pace around a comically small space, then sit down on the bench beneath the back wall, stir yet again when he rolls his shoulders in an attempt to get more comfortable.

But what is so off-putting, truly, is the fact that Yunho knows the cause for Fixer’s seemingly perpetual movement, aside from the nerves that must plague him for the same reasons as they do Yunho.

Fuck. 

He used to have a heating pad around here somewhere.

This is not technically Yunho’s ship; his own pride and joy sits snug on a planet on the outskirts of the planetary system he had planned to take San to. Yunho had not taken all of his essentials with him, but—old habits die hard, and Yunho must have forgotten why he had a stupid heating pad in the first place, if he took it with him all of these months ago when they went undercover.

He finds it in the bathroom, haphazardly thrown into the corner on top of a package of mandatory pain medication and a first aid kit.

He picks it up before he can think better of it, and lets his feet take hasty steps towards the holding cell, Fixer looking up at him with barely concealed surprise underneath his pained expression when the door slides open to reveal Yunho on a mission.

“Still—Still got the back pains, huh?” Yunho offers, and since his resolve has already crumbled considerably, he meets Mingi’s stunned - stunning - eyes, sees so much in them that he almost cannot stand to recognize the soul beneath.

A black hole is tricky you see; it may pull everything into nothingness, but it spits it back out again, in riddles, lost in translation, and Yunho is not so wise as to solve the words sent his way.

Fixer nods his answer, rising from the bench to approach Yunho, “I’ve been confined to metal cages for the better part of a week, and you know prisons aren’t really known for caring about their prisoners’ health issues.” Mingi spots the heating pad in Yunho’s hand. “That—Is that for me?”

“Yeah,” Yunho says, though he does not know how to explain this sudden act of kindness, not when he is supposed to play the part of a pilot in a prisoner transport.

They stand there for a moment, unsure how to proceed with the wall of glass between them, and that thick, unbearable tension in the air neither knows how to dissolve.

“Uh, I—thank you, but…” Fixer holds up his wrists, held together by the cuffs. “I appreciate this, though. Really. It’s more kindness than I deserve.”

 _From you_ , unspoken but not missed.

Yunho ignores its acidic aftertaste.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Yunho admits, too caught up in an instinct to help that should have left him with Mingi; ghosts of a past have a mind of their own, however, and they linger, for as long as they want to, as long as they need to.

Yunho swallows past the rising discomfort, and asks, “Can I trust you?”

Yunho supposes the question is coming out of nowhere for Mingi, but it is nearly begging to be asked.

“What?” Mingi returns, mouth open in confusion, a sole syllable full of unmistakable hurt. Nothing more than a blink of an eye, and Fixer schools his face to hide his weakness, to act out strength and harden his resolve. “Of course—Of course you can trust me.”

Yunho sighs; an abrupt, short little thing. He knows he probably should not feel so relieved, not with their external circumstances pressing them into a corner, but he cannot deny that Mingi’s earnest answer lifts a weight off his heart Yunho has come to be too tired to carry.

“Turn around, then,” Yunho demands in a gentle tone, careful not to let his voice break.

Mingi must trust _him_ without a doubt, because he turns on his heel the instant the words hit his ears. He even steps further into the cell, into the darkness where white lights cannot make his soft hair shimmer at the tips.

Yunho types in the code, and the glass slides away, leaving nothing but air between them.

It is a ridiculous situation, Yunho will admit - if they had an audience that did not consist of specks of dust, but a variety of sadistic, fun-loving species, Yunho can imagine the laughter at their stilted movements, at the awkward air, at the way this is all Yunho’s fault for caring about this heating pad more than his sanity.

Except they are alone, and no one is laughing. It is just them, together again because the dice have been thrown in their favor and Yunho was fool enough to take a roll himself.

He approaches Fixer slowly, crossing the three meters’ distance between them faster than he would like.

“Can I put it on you?” Yunho whispers, feeling all kinds of stupid.

“Yes,” Mingi says, and Yunho believes he hears, “you don’t even have to ask,” mumbled under his breath. 

Yunho tries to focus on the task at hand; folding out the pad against Mingi’s lower back, watching as its memory returns and follows the curve of Mingi’s body where it touches. Mingi gives a sigh when it does, and Yunho’s hands linger at the edges for a second longer than they probably should.

Time passes, but Yunho cannot possibly gauge how much.

When Mingi tries to turn around, he nearly stumbles over his feet, obviously too lost in the warmth at his back to notice that his body is aiming to go horizontal.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Yunho asks, and for a moment, there is concern that he cannot conceal, does not want to conceal, for he had not intended to cause further harm for a suffering prisoner. Yunho catches Mingi by the arms, brings them down to their knees as slowly as he can, but he cannot make sense of the smile that blossoms on Mingi's face, for it is not devilish, not foolish, but peaceful, so content that it bursts the bubble of this strange reality. Mingi's eyes are closed, his chest is heaving from heavy breaths, and yet, Mingi finds his strength to straighten his back, a flush rising to his cheeks.

Not that Yunho could see it in the dark, not really, as much as he wishes to - Mingi, on the other hand, could discern many a color on Yunho's face if their roles were reversed (or Mingi were to open his eyes again), what with the wide spectrum of light his eyes are able to perceive, even in what Yunho would argue is the pitch-black darkness of the holding cell.

It is a flash of memory that Yunho has stored in his head which recalls the color Yunho had then come to learn as an expression of comfort and ease, in particular after a period of pain that had to be endured no matter the cost.

Mingi is leaning forward, then, head landing on top of Yunho's shoulder, and Yunho supposes that Mingi must be beneath consciousness by now, if he has no qualms to make the trusted fall into the arms of the pilot who is only supposed to transport him to his doom. Yunho has not the heart to push him away, not yet, not when he is gaining as much comfort from this as Mingi.

Little is familiar to a criminal - the partners you choose, they come and they go, the jobs you pick, they succeed and they fail, the lives that you live, they are here and they are there, though never in one place, never for long, and sometimes, you create the identity, when other times, it selects you.

Back then, they discovered familiarity in each other where they had not expected it.

Back then, Yunho knew Mingi's soul as well as his own, knew every nook and every corner of his body, where to touch and where not to, and what drew out noises so melodious, Yunho could spin an entire symphony dedicated to the love by his heart, just so the universe could catch a glimpse of the treasure he possesses.

It is nice to realize that not all of it has been lost, though Yunho shall not indulge, cannot indulge.

Some part of Mingi's soul, and even Yunho's, has come to be tainted by something sad, something horrible. Yunho has it better to remember that it may feel the same, but is not the same - and that he should be careful not to be tricked by his own lovesick brain.

“Thank you,” Mingi whispers, unaware of Yunho's spiraling thoughts, “I... _Fuck_ , it feels so good. Just like it used to.”

Mingi lifts his head off Yunho's shoulder, and their eyes meet with a force that nearly brings Yunho to tears with the absurdity of it all.

What in the universe's name is he doing?

Yunho jumps up from the ground, hands burnt from the touch. Mistrust is high; most of it with himself.

He puts a distance between them, walks out of the cell but doesn't put in the code, although every inch of his body itches to do it.

Mingi exhales shakily, eyes wide and sad, and he worries his lower lip between his teeth like he wants to say something important but foregoes it at the upsetting sight that Yunho must be making.

Yunho knows he must be looking panicked, caught in a light frenzy, running his hands through his hair, back and forth until its texture feels weird against his palm, and when he hears Mingi get up from the ground with a groan, trying to approach him with a quiet call of his name, Yunho loses it.

Those last straws he has been grasping, finally slipping from his fingers.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Mingi,” he screams, voice cracking underneath the weight of tears. “This—it’s not supposed to happen with you, Mingi, _not you_.”

Mingi does not speak, just takes it all in, this Yunho before him, who is fuming not out of anger but frustration and overflowing energy he has no idea where to direct - much like Mingi does not know how to receive it.

“I could be all the way across the sector already if it weren’t for you, do you know that?” Yunho remarks, bitter and cold and on the verge of laughing even though none of this is even remotely funny. “Wooyoung would be on a ship out of Headquarters by now, San would be with me, and we could finally just have some fucking peace of mind after months of trying and figuring out a way to get San out of this place without any of us dying the process!”

“San?” Yunho hears, but he just goes on, unbothered by the perplexed frown on Mingi’s face in the far corner of his vision. 

“I could have gotten my own ship back, San and Wooyoung could have finally gotten _married_ , for fuck’s sake, but _no_ ,” Yunho sniffs, shaking his head before burying it into his hands, rubbing at the already irritated red of his skin. “You had to come along and take his place, you had to pay better, you just had to—you just had to _ruin it all_!

“And the worst part is; it’s not even your fault,” Yunho whispers, tongue heavy with the words.

Then, he looks at Fixer again, at Mingi, at everything he has lost and gained in the last few hours, and he wonders;

“Is it?”

—

At first, there is nothing.

A partnership between a thief and a pilot.

Not uncommon, not unseen.

Not much to marvel at, Fixer teaming up with Jeong Yunho. Word of it gets around fast, and people talk about the most insignificant things when the day is long with one, even longer with two suns in a system.

Some do not believe in their success, others make them the match of the millennium.

Their reputation builds naturally after a while.

And so does their relationship to one another.

At first, there is nothing, then suddenly, there is everything.

One evening it is Fixer stealing from the highest-ranking military officer of some unimportant planet in the outskirts of the quarter, with Yunho messing up his entire security system to make the poor guy run around his giant mansion without a damn clue, and another, Song Mingi is pressing Jeong Yunho up against the door of a hotel room one system over, expected victory scorching hot in their veins that the adrenaline seeks yet another thrill.

It starts right there, somewhere in the darkness, somewhere strange and unknown, but it does not stop there. A force which pulls, pulls and pulls, and not much time passes after a job well done before they fall into place, fall into bed together, as if it is the most natural of progressions to be found.

They fuck—in nasty, unkept hotel rooms, on Yunho’s ship when autopilot is running, in places even Jung Wooyoung would call them exhibitionists for; and it is a regular thing, sure, them being unable to keep their hands off each other when safety strikes for longer than two hours, but it does not become a _Thing_.

Until it does.

Yunho has slept with enough people to know what sex without the strings attached is supposed to feel like - it is meant to be a fun experience, sometimes repeated when the right moment arises, and it is no less intense than it ought to be. A relief from momentary stresses. Yunho takes his care to stay safe from those he knows will only focus on their own pleasure and not waste a second thought on him; he is a man of standards, after all, and he knows his worth.

It is the way Mingi will treat him that changes everything, in the end.

Song Mingi is all of which Fixer is not; the right amount of confidence instead of put-on arrogance, pleasant warmth instead of blazing heat, gentleness instead of roughness. His clever nature does not disappear, but it comes out as peculiar humor more often than not, and Yunho feels as though he could laugh forever when he is around.

It is very easy to get drawn in, like this. Yunho sees Mingi’s mind as a treasure chest, full of a variety of wonders. Each day he gets to spend with him is a new perspective, a new riddle Yunho is eager to solve, and it does not surprise him when he falls in love, not when he sees in Mingi’s eyes that he is right there with him, same pace, same heart.

Their kisses become good luck charms before missions, words exchanged careful and meaningful, though never do they turn into goodbyes - fate should never be so played with, for it rises to the challenge and catches you off guard, and Yunho prays upon a day without close calls, complications or injuries.

Their lifestyle is not safe, and they are both aware of that, what with Mingi’s occasional back pains making unwanted nightly visits when a day’s worth of hard work is done.

But Mingi is hopeful, positive, beautiful; Yunho almost believed him vain, at their first meeting, before Mingi had turned around and explained his plan to him, thought out from start to finish, and yet, he had let Yunho give his input without a single complaint.

Yunho values that Mingi listens to him.

Which is ultimately what makes him stay, every single time he is asked to. Mingi’s touch is convincing, his smile so enchanting, and Yunho has to send a thousand apologies to Wooyoung for being so distracted all the time.

(Not that Wooyoung is any better, seducing a crown prince.)

But why would Yunho want to escape Mingi’s orbit, when remaining close by means to enjoy the warmest of souls?

When it means to be made love to with such tenderness, it all but feels unreal, more of a dream, an equal exchange of affection neither of them has come to experience in the past few years?

Sometimes, the rational side of him reprimands him for having become as attached to Mingi as he never should have. Like there is too much of a risk with such bare vulnerability, even as its origin lies with both sides.

Yunho has spent too many days in his life worrying his pretty pink lips over the trials and tribulations of a romantic relationship, however; he will be damned if he lets Mingi go when he so very clearly does not wish to leave.

Yunho does not, either.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Mingi breaks through his thoughts, rough voice muffled against the fabric of a pillow, as Mingi hugs it to his face and smushes his cheeks against it.

One look to his side, and Yunho finds Mingi cracking an eye open, very clearly unhappy with being awoken by Yunho’s loud ponderings, and Yunho laughs at the pout on Mingi’s lips that seeks to defy the arrival of the morning.

Morning is an artificial expression, in their case. They are currently docked in a space station where Mingi intends to meet a new client in a solo job, and time is a mere sentient-made construct where the sun does not pass their horizon.

All they have, though, is a good three hours before they have to part for however long Mingi’s job will take, and Yunho really understands why Mingi would rather not acknowledge that.

“Engine schematics,” Yunho says, instead of all of the mushy stuff he had really been thinking about. Though come to think of it, he had wanted to improve on his ship’s engine for quite a while now, and now that they are at the space station, he ought to look for parts—

“ _Boring_ ,” Mingi drawls, reaching his arm out blindly over Yunho’s naked chest, pulling Yunho close to him. “Why think about stupid stuff like that when you could be thinking about me instead?”

 _I was_.

“Gets old, you know?” Yunho replies, hand carding through Mingi’s hair as he faces him. His face splits into a tease of a grin. “Always thinking of the same thing.”

“As if you don’t like it,” Mingi smirks up at him, still pinching Yunho’s side in retaliation.

“You’re right,” Yunho says, smile a little dopey. “There’s worse brain worms.”

Mingi laughs at that, rolling on top of Yunho to continue his torment on his body from the front row seat. His necklace is dangling from his neck, a golden medal nearly touching Yunho’s chest. “Why can’t you say you love me like normal people?”

“Since when are we considered ‘normal’?” Yunho counters, kissing the pout on Mingi’s face before it reaches full force, and says, “Good morning, love. I hope you had pleasant dreams about me.”

“Oh this is how we’re playing it, huh?” Mingi complains, and Yunho just knows Mingi’s shifting on top of him is purposeful. Yunho’s breath catches in his throat when Mingi’s thighs slot between his own, tantalizingly close to sparking further interest in the lowest region of Yunho’s belly. “You can get away with thinking about something so unexciting as engine schematics, but I have to dream about you, yeah? What a _nightmare_.”

“Ah, you clever little shit.”

Mingi just grins like the devil that he is, and props himself up on his elbows, placed on each side of Yunho’s head. It has Mingi’s body move up in the process, thighs brushing against Yunho’s most sensitive areas in an intentional memoir of last night.

The gasp the action elicits is minuscule, barely even noticeable to his own ears, but Mingi would not be Mingi if he were not so attuned to each and every little noise Yunho is capable of making, especially if he is the very cause for it.

“I’m on your mind now, am I not?” Mingi has the gall to whisper directly into his ears, planting his smirk right up against Yunho’s neck. His hairs rise to attention, receiving every warm breath with a shudder, and heat begins to coil at his core, awaiting wandering hands and a salacious tongue to begin their search for it over Yunho’s bare chest.

“Always are,” Yunho exhales, kiss after kiss given around the curve of his throat making him feel breathless, “I’m a big boy. I can think about more than one thing.”

“Are you now?” Mingi purrs, moving his leg against Yunho’s heat. “Will you tell me what you _really_ thought about, then?”

Yunho’s heartbeat picks up when Mingi’s fingers curl against his jaw, then down to his neck and even further, grazing over his nipples before flicking one of them sharply, giggling against Yunho’s skin when Yunho whimpers in pleasure as a response. Mingi’s touch does not leave, either, dancing around sensitive buds because he is perfectly aware of the torture he is putting Yunho through.

“So?” Mingi prompts, voice expectant.

It is only then, in his aroused haze, that Yunho realizes he has not given an answer yet.

“‘S too embarrassing,” he whines, because Mingi does not show him any mercy, now that his mouth follows where fingers have already traced a path. Mingi has a special talent, like this; engraving himself into every patch of skin he can reach, leaving a mark that may appear temporary to the lazy eye, but sticks around forever and always, even beyond the end of time itself.

Mingi hums as he goes lower still, hands sliding down to Yunho’s waist as Mingi presses kisses to Yunho’s stomach, then his happy trail, but he does not explore further just yet. Yunho has to bite his lips to stop himself from a needy complaint, now that he feels Mingi’s touch so close to where he wants it but gets refused.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Mingi swears, coming face to face with Yunho, one hand trailing along the side of his jaw. Yunho meets his eyes in a sort of wonderful dream, breaking out into a smile because of the underlying earnestness, although Mingi’s tone is nothing if not the sultriest he has ever heard it. It distracts Yunho for but a moment, though it is enough time for Mingi to pull back the blanket until it uncovers even the last of him, the sudden inrush of cold air quickly replaced with the heat of Mingi’s hand covering the most intimate parts of him.

The touch alone has a whimper surface despite Yunho’s best efforts to keep it in, and he vaguely perceives Mingi giggling from his side, nosing at his cheeks in delight at the desired reaction.

“Anything at all,” Mingi repeats as his fingers begin to move, up and down, in fast, ruthless motions, just like he knows Yunho loves it.

“This feels a lot like coercion,” Yunho rasps out, lost in this blissful sensation building and building, Mingi’s smile against his cheek so prominent, it might as well be burned into his flesh.

“Is it working?” Mingi wonders, sounding far too innocent for a man in his position, leaving Yunho no room to breathe as he works his magic. Yunho tries to collect his bearings to form an answer, and he ends up with one that does not quite come out so cheeky as he intends, though it drives Mingi up the wall with daring.

“I know you can do better.”

Mingi immediately ceases all of his movements, gaping at Yunho’s boldness in the midst of arousal, and shakes his head, asking, “That a challenge, Jeong?”

“Do your worst,” Yunho whispers with a half-smirk.

Afterwards, when Mingi’s mouth aided his hands in their quest to bring Yunho to a stellar orgasm, and Mingi himself has spent his entire spirits through grinding against Yunho’s thigh in frantic search for his release, they lie in bed for a while, chests heaving in sync as they try to catch their breaths. The air around them is thick and heady with their spontaneous morning endeavors, and it makes Yunho laugh like a fool when he remembers that there still is a question in need of an answer, now that he has been fully coerced by Mingi’s gentle, heavenly fingers.

Yunho takes a deep breath, reaching up to Mingi’s face to brush sweat-soaked strands of hair from his forehead, then he smiles all lovely and sweet, granting Mingi’s wish for truth, “‘Was thinking about us. About how much I love being with you. About how much I love you.” He leans forward just so, kissing the mole on Mingi’s face with well-practiced precision, and watches Mingi’s nose scrunch cutely when he withdraws.

“So you _can_ say I love you like a normal person,” Mingi says, eyes wide as he begins to grin, red from their previous exertion or open embarrassment, Yunho cannot tell. “I love you, too, Yunho. So much.”

They seal it with a kiss, this love confession somewhere insignificant, with just an hour or so left to their own devices until Mingi will have to leave, and it is a bittersweet feeling, this exchange of hearts, even though their gravitational pulls will not see the other from their side for too long.

They make themselves proper for the day, taking their time in the shower to indulge in some more kisses, and they are dressed to an acceptable degree when there are twenty minutes left on the clock.

Yunho watches as Mingi pulls his necklace out from under his black shirt, and it catches the light in a reflection for a second as it falls flat against Mingi’s chest. Yunho had always seen it as a part of Mingi, an accessory he favored above all others, though it had never occurred to him that there might just be a deeper meaning in the gold of the medal.

“Mingi?” Yunho asks, eyes fixed on the necklace.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something about your necklace?”

Mingi makes a noise of surprise, blinks down at his necklace in confusion, but he nods.

“It seems pretty special to you,” Yunho begins, not entirely sure how to inquire about a piece of jewelry. “You rarely take it off.”

“It’s from my mother,” Mingi reveals, undoing the clasp behind his neck. “A good luck charm for safe travels. Family heirloom, really.”

Then Mingi folds his hands open, lets the medal pendant flow into Yunho’s palm for closer inspection. The rectangular shape fits neatly into the size of his hand, sharp lines engraved on a thin metal plate, some shorter, some longer, each of them uniting in one single point at the center. Sound waves like frequencies follow each line, making each and every one unique next to its siblings.

“It’s an old star map,” Yunho realizes in wonder. He had seen many of those in his training as a pilot, although they had mostly taught him about their vast inaccuracies and newer, more reliable methods of navigating through the universe.

“My smart pilot boyfriend will probably already know that it’s not of too much use anymore, and that the stars are far too unpredictable over the expanse of spacetime for it to be leading anywhere, but—”

“That’s your home planet, isn’t it? In the center,” Yunho fills in, starting to smile. “What’s it called?”

“Eighven,” Mingi answers, quietly, “surrounded by seven major pulsars. The frequency of the one furthest away is said to resemble a child’s cry for their parents.”

“Have you ever heard it?”

“As a matter of fact I have,” Mingi perks up, grinning a little, “sounds incredibly annoying. Like an alarm that just won’t stop ringing in your ears.”

Their laughter is light, a bit of peace in gentle sound, and Mingi continues in a softer tone, wistfulness seeping into his voice like Yunho has never heard it, “My family has always been traveling through the entire universe, even in days where this map would have almost been accurate. My mother told me that there’s no harm in it, so long as you can always find your way back home. The necklace—it’s kept her safe when she was young, before she had me. Now it’s supposed to keep me safe.”

“It’s beautiful, Mingi,” Yunho whispers, thumb grazing over the medal’s surface, committing the map to memory as best he can with just one touch. “Will you take me there, one day?” he asks, returning the necklace to its rightful place, stroking Mingi’s neck with an absent mind afterward. “Home?”

Mingi does not seem to expect the question, a blank expression of what Yunho assumes to be mild shock falling to his features. Yunho has half a mind to apologize, for overstepping, for assuming too much or too little, but then Mingi takes him by the cheeks and kisses him, with a force only one Song Mingi could procure.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against Yunho’s, murmurs, “I love you,” into the breath that fits between their lips, and then, louder, he says, “I think my mother would love to meet you.”

“And I would love to meet her,” Yunho says, smiling into the kiss he gives in return.

Yunho had not known his own parents; neither he or Wooyoung had been old enough to remember the day they had been dropped off at the orphanage - left behind, really, as toddlers crying for someone to love them, abandoned by someone who never could.

They have made their own family over the years, sticking together through thick and thin until they could finally escape the dread and the sorrow of yet another place where love was hard to come by.

Yunho does not like thinking back to a time where he had everything left to figure out for himself, to navigate through the grief and hatred for someone he has never even known.

He has got it all now.

Builds it for himself, for those around him.

He is happy, like this.

Because even though he has to say goodbye to Mingi for a while, he has no doubts that Mingi will find his way back to him.

Find home away from home.

—

“Is it?” Yunho repeats, when Mingi stays silent through his shock. “Is it your fault?”

Entire seasons pass in the infinity between question and answer, with how Yunho’s body goes through heat and cold and indifference in but a few seconds. He waits, and he waits, and Mingi’s face grows more and more shameful.

Yunho closes his eyes to brace himself.

“I think it might be,” Mingi admits, finally, bowing his head. 

Yunho rests his hand on a nearby wall, attempting to steady his body when his nerves are all giving up on him. He does not know what to do with Mingi’s answer, and he is loath to ask for more than just scraps of an idea he builds into his own distorted version of the actual truth. Yunho knows there is no escaping it, as soon as he does, and—he is afraid. He is afraid of discovering the reason that Mingi has been brought back to him in a manner he could neither predict or ever conceivably _want_.

In a matter of seconds, Yunho finds himself on the hard and unforgiving metal floor, knees aching and ears ringing, clutching the necklace underneath his shirt like a lifeline.

He ought to give it back now—while he still has the chance.

What does not register in his mind - not in this strange, unreliable little world Yunho has created for the sole purpose of shattering it afterwards - is Mingi approaching him without a word, kneeling down just a few feet away from his front. Mingi, too, appears to be waiting for something, though Yunho cannot possibly come to a reasonable conclusion to the arguments on Mingi’s troubled face when he himself has to sort through a mind of chaos, aside from the heavy curtain of tears that tastes salty on his lips.

Thieves have to practice patience to perfection - sometimes, they must sit in a dark corner for hours on end until opportunity is ripe enough to be plucked. Sometimes, they have to deal with people and their iron-clad resolves, applying the heat to melt it down in small, slow, even helpings before they can even reach the core of their victim.

Yunho has never been good at being patient. He finds it all so agonizing, every moment he spends waiting for something.

This is it, then—agony.

“What did you do?” Yunho whispers, trying to breathe through the knot in his chest to lose this nonsensical urge to cry.

“It’s—it’s a long story, Yunho,” Mingi says, and he sounds as tired as Yunho feels.

Each and every instinct in Yunho’s body is begging Yunho to restore the touch he has so haphazardly thrown away just moments ago, but Yunho cannot—will not listen, no matter how dire, no matter how urgent the need. It is but muscle memory, to fall right into the arms of the devil he has painted, and Yunho shall fight it until the bitter end - whatever hell it may look like, whatever bodily suffering it shall bring upon him.

“Give me the short version,” he demands, hugging his arms to his chest to stop them from reaching out. Mingi is so very close, it is far too daunting a task.

Mingi considers Yunho’s challenge, sitting himself down with his bound hands in his lap, and then he squares his jaw, as though he were to prepare for a fight. Internal, by the looks of it; Yunho has grown tired.

“I think it might have been a prisoner exchange,” Mingi provides, clear as day, with a voice that does its best to conceal all of his pain, physical or emotional. “Notorious, serial offender, most wanted thief in the universe for the heir to the throne of Sixte, believed to have died some three years ago yet rediscovered in a government prison in near perfect condition. There’s a bounty on his head so high, even you might consider selling him out.”

“I would never do that to him,” Yunho spits, furious that Mingi would ever even dare suggest he would betray San like that. “San has been by my side throughout the last few years when there is a good deal of people who never even thought of staying. He has been one of the best friends I ever had. How dare you—”

“I know,” Mingi cuts him off, swallowing against something rough. Maybe a swell of tears at Yunho’s words, their implication. Maybe nothing at all. Who knows. “I know you wouldn’t. I—I’m sorry. All I meant to say is—”

“He’s valuable,” Yunho finishes, fragile voice breaking as he lets the realization sit for a moment.

 _Not valuable enough,_ Yunho hears, somewhere faint in the back of his head. He does not know if Wooyoung will find this outcome a better one, San having more value than either of them could have imagined. They had done such a good job at faking his death, after all, believed him to be safe from future recognition by wiping his pictures from all databases, accessible or not.

Evidently, all of their hard work has not proved sufficient in the long run. 

“The government doesn’t give away prisoners so easily, does it?” Mingi continues, “I’m gonna assume I was offered as a fair trade. Odds evened out. They can cross ‘Fixer’ off their damn list, _Kane_ is finally rid of me and gets a whole lot of money in return.”

“Kane?” Yunho inquires, coming up with nothing on where Mingi speaks in a tone that suggests Yunho will have a clue just who he is talking about.

Mingi looks surprised, just a little, when he answers, “Highly sought-after bounty hunter, most of the time, though he dabbles in most anything illegal you could think of. I would estimate he has struck quite the bargain with some higher-ranking officers at Headquarters. None of these fools here even begin to fathom just how much they have lost by giving Choi San up to one of the worst criminals there is.”

“They underestimated his worth,” Yunho agrees, humming in thought. “Probably believed Kane would be the one coming up with the short end of the stick, picking who they assumed is just one of their many unimportant delinquents.”

San had not been arrested under his birth name. To anyone viewing the prisoner listings, he would appear as someone so ordinary beneath all of the other thieves and small-time criminals, There are very few people who could have known San’s true identity, traced it back to the Alias of Choi San who did odd tasks in the outer systems to get by his daily credits. 

Which begs a rather important question, “How’d this _Kane_ guy know it was San, though?”

“No idea,” Mingi says, but he averts his eyes and gnaws on the insides of his mouth - revealing the truth, despite himself. Yunho tries not to begrudge him for it, even as his anger begins to boil, dissolving his bones like acid.

“ _You_ ,” Yunho says, quiet. Unnerved, but calm. “You told him.”

“Kane is a smart man, Yunho. I won’t deny that I mentioned knowing the prince, how I knew he was still alive, but I never gave San’s name,” Mingi says, a desperate undertone to his words that has not been there before. “And I didn’t know San was arrested, either. I didn’t even know I was going to fucking wake up in that prison today. This man has people all over the universe working for him. He must have planned this for a long time, all behind my back.”

Then, unexpectedly, Mingi leans forward, wide, round eyes pleading with Yunho, “You must believe me when I say that if I had known, I would have done everything in my power to prevent this from happening. _Everything_.”

Both of their efforts have been in vain, then - imaginary ones, hypothetical ideas of the past, practical executions done under the naive impression that nothing could ever go wrong. None of them leading anywhere substantial.

Mingi has known San longer than Yunho has, never mind those three years he has missed out on in the past, and Yunho does not doubt that Mingi is sincere with his oath of protection, as little meaning as it has now that there is no way to change what has already happened.

“I believe you,” Yunho decides on another whisper, locking his eyes with Mingi’s, watching the relief bleed into them with the glistening of tears Mingi is adamant not to shed. Yunho knows he is acting strong for him, holds back for him, and he both appreciates the gesture greatly and wishes Mingi were not coddling him so.

Mingi remains an open book to Yunho, even with the distance of time between them. One glance, and Yunho has read his feelings off his eyes and lips alone. One look, deeper, beyond the surface, and it is as though Mingi never left Yunho behind at all, just reappeared in the doorway like he had promised.

Mingi must have developed his skills at deception, if Yunho is so fooled into believing that nothing has changed. He is so torn between trusting his gut and fearing the worst, although he knows deep down, there shall always be a part of him that refuses to throw the necklace away, because it would mean losing his last faith in the love of his life, and—

Yunho’s strength is superficial. It is crumbling.

“This _Kane…_ you were his prisoner, then?” Yunho asks, before more of him falls into nothingness and despair, and he cannot bring himself to ask anymore in fear of the anguish it would cause.

Mingi shakes his head, “No. I was—somewhat of a helper. Not quite a right-hand man, but… not unimportant.”

Yunho ignores the heartache, the searing burn of the metal plate against his skin, and forces his reply to steadiness, “Was it worth it?”

“Worth what?” Mingi asks, confused.

“Leaving me behind.”

Mingi’s resolve breaks, ultimately. A tear, so small a thing, and yet it leaves a trail behind, a mark the light loves to catch. Yunho watches it, then another, even as Mingi remains unmoving, words lost somewhere indecent.

Yunho does not know what he expected. There is hardly anything Mingi could have said to make him feel better. 

Though Yunho has to admit that, somehow, his silence hurts even worse.

“I see,” Yunho mumbles, having heard his answer in the words unspoken. He does not bother dipping into his energy reserves to hide his disappointment - all he aims for, right now, is a flight from this dreadful reality. “I gotta—I gotta check the, uh. Autopilot. And call Wooyoung.”

And Yunho rises to his feet again, arms flailing about to gesture at the emptiness of the room before he is going, intent not to look back. Mingi does not follow him to the cockpit, although Yunho knows that he could with the generous freedom from the holding cell Yunho has left him with. 

No small part of Yunho wishes Mingi were right behind him, keeping pace, insisting on innocence or determination or something equally inconsequent, but—Mingi has always been too respectful of Yunho’s space to ever invade it when he believes to be the least wanted in it.

Thus, Yunho stops and turns around and finds nothing but emptiness, inside and out. At least, no one is there to witness this shameful display of Yunho’s number one weakness, and Yunho can pretend as though it does not exist for yet another moment of illusion.

He forces himself to focus on the task at hand, on reaching the cockpit to call for Wooyoung in relative peace and deafening quiet. They need to figure out a second plan to rescue San, and quick, or else San ends up with a family that treats him like dirt yet pretends to be gracious to their crown prince.

They must only want him back to execute full control over his person, shape him into the heir they need to let cruelty run its course over a war-riddled planet. San has forsaken his right to a crown he has never wanted the moment he met Wooyoung, and his path to liberation had been a particularly tumultuous and rocky one at that.

Yunho hates the thought that it had all been for nothing.

Despite the urgency of their situation, Yunho does not call Wooyoung immediately - there is little use in approaching this with his head in the clouds, he figures. He has to sort through the morning he has had, through memories which have resurfaced, and most of all, he must make sense of what Mingi has told him about this _Kane_ , about whom Yunho still knows very little, and certainly not enough to proceed with a plan.

Yunho concludes that it must have been a prisoner exchange, although Mingi technically could not be considered Kane’s captive. From the sound of it, Yunho assumes that Mingi must have made himself an enemy rather than an asset to Kane if he is so eager to dispose of him in return for someone more valuable, and be it in the short term, only.

Not that bounty hunters care all too much about the lasting consequences of their work; what matters is the price - the bigger the number offered, the better - and they will do what they must in order to receive it.

There are still loose ends he will have to investigate, once he rebuilds his composure enough to talk to Mingi again.

All they have to do is figure out where, exactly, they brought San.

And what to do with Song Mingi.

He is valuable, that much is certain; Yunho trusts an abandoned thief enough to rat out his former partner - or something of that kind - who must have had nothing but distaste for him in the end. Yunho trusts a former lover even more not to tell lies when there is a void of uncertainty between them, following them like a dark shadow larger than themselves, unable to be shaken off.

Yunho could conduct a proper investigation for the remainder of their journey, and ultimately leave Mingi to his undeserved fate at the prison colony as bizarre punishment for his honesty. With all the bad blood, the spike of incertitude, not even Wooyoung would begrudge Yunho for making such a decision quite unlike his true character. 

The other option would be to set him free - which, really, is the only option.

As much as Yunho may hate Mingi for having been so unceremonious in his sudden departure, he could never live with himself if he brought Mingi to his certain death out of pure spite, especially after Song Mingi has left far too big an impact on him to ever be doomed to such tragedy.

Not a soul deserves it - no matter what he has done, Song Mingi shall be the last to be treated like a creature without worth, without heart. There is so much of it, a personal manifest much like a historic treasure, that it may never be allowed to freeze in the cold winds of Marid.

Yunho pulls the necklace out from under his uniform, fingers curling around the metal in his hand. A wise woman had told him a good while ago that this necklace is a promise, and Songs never fail to keep their promises.

She was right, in some part. Though this particular promise consists of more than just the return of a lover, and Yunho finds that the imagined reunion has always been but a flimsy idea in his mind, a dream never to see the lights of day, or the brilliance of the stars. He should have known, deep down, not to be so foolish, and maybe he did, but it is one thing to dream and one thing to live, and Yunho never stopped indulging in the former, as much as he executed the latter.

“I can’t believe you kept it,” Yunho hears behind him, turns around in the pilot seat to see Mingi standing in the entrance to the cockpit, looking lost and found. His eyes are rimmed red, just like Yunho supposes his own to be, and he appears to stand behind an invisible barrier, afraid and unable to go any further than he already has, having crossed a border into unknown, uncertain territory.

His eyes, unsurprisingly, are circling out the most precious item in the room, the long-lost guide back home, and Yunho realizes that Mingi is genuine in his disbelief, for which Yunho cannot even blame him. He would have hardly expected Mingi to do the same, if their roles were reversed and it was Yunho's necklace in need of safe-keeping.

Yunho cannot even begin to describe how much the thought of throwing out the necklace, after the return to its first rightful owner had been refused and doubt had overtaken unconditional faith, appalled him. How the necklace became part of a dream he could easily forget, concealed beneath layers of clothes and greater concerns. How, before he knew it, it developed into an afterthought, a piece of him that just belonged where it did.

So, Yunho does not even try, “Sorry, you must want it back—” and undoes the clasp lying in his nape, standing up to give the necklace back before he does something selfish, and keeps it.

“No, Yunho, it’s—it’s yours, now,” Mingi says, gnawing on his lips as Yunho approaches.

Yunho is a little perplexed at Mingi’s reply, but still says, “It never was mine, Mingi, I ought to—”

“Yunho,” Mingi says, with emphasis, with finality. With the voice of a man who does not accept further resistance. “ _Please_. Please, keep it.”

Yunho itches to ask for a reason why - yet, he does not, if only because Mingi’s eyes are begging him to take the moment as is, heavy with emotion that hurts so terribly if it is given a voice. Yunho exhales through the urge, lets it subside into nothingness before he puts the necklace back. He does not hide it underneath his shirt.

Mingi relaxes visibly, stepping into the small space of the cockpit. Yunho returns to the pilot seat, watching him warily.

“Have you called Wooyoung yet?” Mingi asks, crossing his arms as he leans against a control console, jumping away when a variety of sounds emerges from behind him and he hastily tries to figure out what happened. Yunho has to bite back a laugh as he checks the system for any errors or irregularities caused by Mingi's clumsiness, and invites Mingi to sit on the co-pilot seat next to him - even in his own ship, it is usually empty, with the occasional Choi San strutting in to lounge there with his handheld until Yunho chases him out, or Wooyoung requires special attention.

Yunho tells himself he would rather have Mingi somewhere he can see him, see what he is doing, than let him roam about the ship with no aim. That way, it may be easier to live with him so close by, just a few feet away, the memories of days gone by like a flash before his eyes, if Yunho convinces himself that it is to protect this ship, rather than himself.

“Not yet,” Yunho says. “I had to—sort through my thoughts first.”

Mingi hums in response, leaning against the backrest of the chair. He looks out ahead, to the stars as they pass by, and it is almost wonder what Yunho sees, except there is a distinct sadness clouding it. Mingi’s hands are balled into loose fists, fingers occasionally flexing to stretch before they go back into their original formation, stacked and ready for nothing at all.

“For the record,” Mingi starts, eyes searching Yunho’s. “It _was_ worth it. But it’s complicated, and not what you think, but the short version is that I didn’t enjoy it. Not a second of it.”

Yunho’s heart beats right into his throat, a gulp the unfortunate result as he processes what Mingi is saying; the meaning behind the answer he thought he would not receive. There is more to it than Mingi reveals, but other matters are more pressing.

“Okay,” Yunho says, quiet. His head is empty for a different, a proper response, though when he looks at Mingi, he spots no dissatisfaction at Yunho’s reply.

Instead, Mingi’s jaw unclenches. “Okay.”

—

Yunho wakes—he thinks that he dreams, for a while, because it is the sun to lure him from the depths of sleep, coming in through the window where they had not bothered to shut the blinds the night before.

It is not so often that this is how he greets a new day, in a hotel room rather than holed up in his ship, and Yunho finds it rather bothersome, really, the rays of the sun far too bright for eyes made for the vast blackness of space. He buries his head further into the pillow, moves his body back against Mingi’s - who, even more sensitive to the light, has started squirming as well, meeting Yunho halfway to holm him close, hand resting against Yunho’s bare chest as he nuzzles his nose into the nape of his neck.

As far as mornings go, this is how it usually works; Mingi behind him or before him, on top or below, holding or being held. Them indulging for once after a job well done is quite extraordinary, though Yunho has to admit that he cannot complain about the soft mattress, nor about the way the fine linen sheets feel against his skin.

They do not have anywhere to be for another week until they reunite with San and Wooyoung. 

Nothing hurries them, today.

So Yunho does not care for the sun, turns away and into Mingi, who is far more radiant anyway, even in sleep. It is the warmth that draws him, a familiar scent engulfing him as he moves in close.

He cannot deny that he is awake, not really, but he can chase a dream as long as there are remnants floating on the inside of his eyelids, gleaming at the edges like burning paper, growing smaller and smaller by the second and fast so fast when Yunho tries to take ahold of them.

Eventually, he cannot help but watch them fade, sleep a hopeless wish even in the warmth of his cocoon. In his frustration, he lets out a noisy groan, which makes Mingi shift above him, who mirrors the sound of disapproval.

“Yunho, _why_?” Mingi whines, “I was having such a great dream about my mother’s cooking.”

Yunho chuckles, chest rumbling with it. “Sorry, love,” he says, kissing his cheek - or trying to, as his lips barely graze Mingi’s skin before Yunho’s strength leaves him and he falls back against the mattress. His eyes are still closed, a useless act of defiance, though he feels Mingi sit up next to him, and follows the warmth like a dying man clinging to life.

He throws his arms around Mingi’s entire upper body from behind, head against Mingi’s shoulder, and just basks in the feeling of him, the comfort, before he mumbles, “Forgive me?”

Mingi huffs, amused, “Of course. I was already awake anyway. Just kept the dream going for as long as I could.”

Yunho loves the deep and gravelly character Mingi’s voice takes on in the morning - more often than not, Yunho believes he is playing it up for Yunho’s sake, perfectly aware that Yunho is rather fond of it, even beyond appropriate realms.

And even though lazy mornings are far and few between with them, and their usual routine consists of gentle, unhurried morning sex, Yunho senses that neither of them are in the mood.

They have time. A lot of it. For once, they are allowed to take it slow.

Opportunities are rich, on days like these. Opportunities which Yunho shall exploit, as he resolved to as soon as celebrations had come to a close last night. Yunho’s bones are buzzing with the anticipation of it all, the sensation having laid dormant throughout peaceful slumber, but now that wakefulness seeps in, it is returning gradually.

Rationally, Yunho knows he has nothing to fear; Mingi is thoughtful, careful, never one to judge Yunho for one word or the other, and not for requests that come from the heart. Yunho is positive with hope, perhaps even a bit too much, but there is just something about those last few pieces of doubt within him that Yunho cannot help but listen to what they have to say, as cruel as those words may be, as insistent as counterevidence attempts to kick them from his mind.

Yunho would not want to lose Mingi nor chase him away by uttering the wish for him to stay.

So, Yunho stops and breathes—lets his nerves settle.

He has prolonged asking Mingi for weeks, but they are just a few days away from rejoining Yunho’s crew, and although Mingi has - thus far - shown no intention to part from them anytime soon, Yunho would like to make something official once and for all.

Some questions have the power to upend entire realities, change the course the world can take, private is it may be. This is their own reality, their own world, and it is the thing most precious to Yunho.

“Mingi?”

Mingi hums in response, a signal that he is hearing Yunho, is paying attention, but has not quite woken from sleep just yet. Yunho shifts to sit before him, pushing the white comforter aside and off the bed. He lifts his hands to Mingi’s cheeks, warm from flaming redness, and he gently says, “Come on, love. I need you to be fully with me right now.”

Mingi cracks one eye open in question, suspicious, “Why?”

“I have something important to talk to you about,” Yunho says, rather lightly and with a smile that aims to smooth out the frown on Mingi’s face, making sure he has nothing to fear for either himself or Yunho. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”

“Is it something good?” Mingi replies, tone the slightest bit suggestive, though in greater parts, he sounds hopeful. He opens his eyes to meet Yunho’s now, in spite of fatigue nearly pulling them shut again, but Yunho watches with fondness as Mingi blinks and blinks to stay where he is - with Yunho, in their own reality, in their own world; awake and happy about it.

Not an ounce of anxiety to be found, trust a powerful opponent to put it in its place.

“I think it could be,” Yunho answers, heart starting to beat faster now that Mingi is so patiently waiting for him to start the conversation. 

Mingi takes Yunho’s hands into his lap. “What is it?”

 _This_ is it—the question, the ask, the request. About to decide over paths of their future.

“You know with San finally getting out, and Wooyoung and him in a relationship that has been in its honeymoon phase for what feels like half a decade, I thought that—well, I might get lonely, right? With the happy couple on board of the ship, and just myself to entertain me on long flights…” Yunho trails off, thumb brushing over the back of Mingi’s hand.

Mingi’s eyes soften in understanding, and he grins as he looks down to their fingers, entangling them. “I think neither Wooyoung nor San are the types to ever allow you to feel lonely, Yunho,” he laughs, mirth pooling in his eyes as he meets Yunho’s again, and with them the impatience of a man who did not expect to be so obviously toyed, even in fun.

“You know what I mean,” Yunho retorts with a roll of his eyes, enamored still even though Mingi almost does not deserve any of his fondness anymore. “There will be—change. And not that I mind it, not at all, I am very happy that Wooyoung and I get to welcome a new member to our crew and family. It’s just—I would like to welcome another one.”

It is rather comical how fast Mingi’s face changes to a shock-induced, blank expression. And here Yunho thought that Mingi already had him all figured out.

“Wait. Are we—Are you—A child?!” Mingi screeches, then, and if Yunho had any doubts about his states of wakefulness, they would all be gone by now. Though Yunho has no clue how Mingi would come to that conclusion when another has been so close to discovery without Yunho ever having to utter a word of it.

“What? No, Mingi, no child, however did you get that idea?” He hurries to reply, heart lurching into his throat when he lets the thought sit for a second.

A family has not been on his mind in quite a long time. Too long even, for someone who rediscovered hope in the future after he left the orphanage that told him there was none for people like him. 

“I’m sorry, it was the way you said it, I just assumed—” Mingi says, then stops. “You were talking about me, weren’t you?”

Yunho breathes in, then out, and smiles, the edges of his mouth quivering, “Yeah. I was—I am.”

“Huh,” Mingi makes, back straightening. Compared to Yunho’s slump, he appears taller, evidently trying to figure everything out from a different point of view - or perhaps just trying to alleviate back pain that might be plaguing him.

“Your back doing okay?” Yunho asks, eyeing Mingi with slight concern when his mouth hangs open and no words fall from it, a subconscious habit of his that only ever sees the light of days in either of two scenarios; the beginnings of painful stabs creeping up and down his spine, so minuscule and irregular, Mingi often has trouble discerning it from temporary bodily shivers, or deep considerations, in times of heavy planning for a job, or rare moments of confusion.

Yunho has made it a rule to always check for the first, as to be able to prevent the pain from spreading before it will have Mingi suffer throughout the whole day.

But Mingi looks at him, blinking like Yunho has asked him an outlandish question, and frowns when he says, “You want me to be part of your crew? Permanently?”

Yunho tries to clear his throat, but the unpleasant lump does not dissolve. “I do. I mean—we’ve been doing missions together for almost two years now, nothing would change, really, if you think about it.” 

“Wooyoung and San… are okay with it?” Mingi asks, speaking in a strange disbelief Yunho finds a bit difficult to comprehend.

“Of course, why wouldn’t they be?” Yunho asks.

“I don’t know,” Mingi replies, voice fading into nothing, but his eyes are still wide as though he is far too perplexed to make sense of any of it. “It’s just—no one’s ever wanted me to be a part of their crew before.”

“You practically already are, Mingi,” Yunho says, squeezing Mingi’s hands. “And Fixer has pretty much always been a loner, hasn’t he?”

Mingi’s face pulls into a grimace, which could almost make for a funny sight if it were not for the haunted expression it results in. It is an odd one, unfamiliar to Yunho, and it has him wonder if what he said has struck a chord and hurt Mingi in the process. Yunho bites his lower lip, suddenly insecure, and then he intends to make his amends and say his apologies, but then Mingi appears to relax again, like a switch has been flicked and he nearly returns back to normal, shaking his head as though to rid himself of an illusion, a dream - or better yet, a _memory_ \- he has been stuck in.

“Mingi, love, are you okay?” Yunho asks, reaching up a hand to cup Mingi’s left cheek, thumb brushing over the brown mole below his eye. “Was it what I said? I didn’t mean to hurt you by calling you that, I’m sorry.”

Deep brown eyes, filled with so much soul they become memorable at first glance, stare back at Yunho, brows beginning to furrow. Pretty pink lips curl around the words, “You didn’t hurt me, Yunho. I’m okay. I—guess I am not as awake as I thought, my brain is working a little slow, I think. Or not. Heh.” 

Yunho is getting the impression that, for the first time in a long time, Mingi is lying to him - and Yunho cannot possibly think of a reason why. “Are... you sure?” he asks. “You’re acting a little weird, Mingi. You’re worrying me.”

Mingi’s silence, Yunho has learned, is worth a million spoken words; Mingi is rarely ever speechless, always knows just what to say and how to best express it. If he so chooses, he can spin entire stories, poems, prose in the fanciest words, leave mouths hanging open with the many skills of his tongue.

If there is nothing in an empty room, and not even Mingi can fill it with a beautiful sound, then there is something so terrible hidden somewhere in the air, something only Mingi can see or feel, like mercury dropping piece by piece onto his tongue and into his throat, heavier and heavier with each passing minute until he could not even speak if he wished to.

Yunho attempts to read it off his face—searches for dread inlaid in the brown rings of his irises, in the light that catches in them, or even the curve of a jaw that appears to turn into stone beneath Yunho's fingertips.

“Mingi...” Yunho breathes. “Talk to me, please.”

He watches the gears in Mingi’s head turn, mulling something over, probably tossing it from one side to another to come to some decision of either voicing the horrible thing or leaving it be, and if so, how to best let it go so it may never resurface again. Inevitably, Mingi seems to arrive at the same conclusion every time; that there is no use burying the living dead clawing their way out of the earth. They have unmatched determination once they have seen the light of day.

“I—Yunho, I would love to be part of your crew,” Mingi says, and his voice sounds almost hollow, as much as it does genuine. A terrifying experience, chilling to the bone, as anything a man may not be used to. 

“But?” Yunho asks, because he has heard it where it was not said, and Mingi is too reluctant to share unless Yunho directly prompts him.

“But... I think I ought to tell you something first,” Mingi finally admits, exhaling. “You might change your mind, if I do.”

Static, white noise, every single sound rises in volume as Mingi lets the words flow from his mouth, and Yunho realizes they are what he hears, scrambled mysteries that do not align any longer after they have been given voice. Just a moment before, Yunho has been listening to his heart beat inside of his chest, loud and insistent in his ear with his anxiety, though now it is dull, sad, confused, and Yunho does not know what to do with the uneasiness settling into his body, at no more than a vague thought of a reality without Mingi in his crew.

“There is nothing you could say that would do that,” Yunho swears, fully cradling Mingi’s head in his hands, moving closer to emphasize, “ _Nothing_ , Mingi.”

“Even if—if it’s something I should have told you sooner? Much sooner? _Fuck_ , even before I ever asked you to be my partner?”

Yunho has to remind himself to breathe, ask his lungs to work as they usually would, hope for the best.

He means what he says; Yunho knows that trust is a precious good in their line of work, a rare gem Yunho himself only shares with three people in the entire universe - including Mingi. Yunho believes to be a man capable of forgiveness, who can accept and adapt to most anything, no matter how grave a circumstance or the crime that leads to it.

Furthermore, Yunho possesses faith - faith in Mingi, in the knowledge that Mingi has his reasons for not telling a complete stranger a secret that appears to lie so severely on his heart.

Mingi has been nothing but honest with him about the things he did tell him, and Yunho has no incentive to assume that this would be any different - sincerity is all Yunho will ask for, nothing more, nothing less. If Mingi offers it to him, Yunho will have no qualms accepting it. He will work through whatever it is that troubles Mingi.

“Even then, Mingi,” Yunho whispers, pressing their foreheads together, hands reaching around his throat fold behind Mingi’s back, hanging loosely. “I trust you. I love you. Whatever it is, I’ll still want you by my side, even if it’s going to be difficult.”

“Can you promise me you won’t be mad?” Mingi asks, meek.

And as much as Yunho would love to extend a hand, this is one thing he cannot and will not falsely give his promise upon. “No, I’m sorry. I promise you that I will not blame you for withholding a secret, I promise that I will help you figure everything out if need be, but I cannot promise that I won’t be mad at first. For your sake and for mine, it will be best if I allow you the same amount of honesty as you do me.”

Mingi watches Yunho for a moment, mouth opening on a small gasp, before he shuts his eyes and pulls him in by the shoulders, burying his head into the crook of Yunho’s neck. Yunho holds Mingi like this for a moment, basks in some semblance of peace, imaginary as it may be, before he tilts his head to whisper into Mingi’s ears, “Does that sound fair to you?”

Mingi nods against his shoulder before he faces Yunho again, kisses him briefly, and says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Yunho asks.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, by far,” Mingi starts, smiling at him. “I hardly deserve you.”

The question of gratitude remains unanswered, but Yunho shall forgive it - he knows the meaning of a, 'Thank you,' especially when it comes from Mingi, and he has different concerns for now.

“This relationship is not about what either of us deserves, Mingi, and you know that. We are what we need, simple as that,” Yunho says, sounding far wiser than he feels. “I need you to be honest with me, and you need me to trust you. And you know that we have always managed to communicate perfectly well with those two principles as guides, haven't we?”

“Yeah, we have,” Mingi agrees, though Yunho hears regret where he never has before. “Can you—fuck, can you give me a moment to prepare myself? Calm down a little?”

“Of course,” Yunho says softly, and he pecks Mingi’s mole one last time before he shuffles off the bed, letting go of Mingi. “I’ll take a shower, yeah? You should get dressed, too. We can have a proper conversation when I’m finished.”

Mingi acknowledges him with a small hum, and Yunho gathers his clothes to his chest and puts them down in the bathroom adjacent to their room. Mingi still sits frozen on the bed, occupying the same space and the same time as seconds ago, so Yunho approaches him and the frown on his face, strokes his thumb across Mingi's cheek and along his jawline before he takes his chin between two fingers, gazing at him with as much love as he can muster.

“No need to be afraid, Mingi,” Yunho says, expression serious, determined. “You’ll always _—always_ have me, one way or another. All right? And I haven't had my full share of you, yet, _Fixer_.”

The call of his name brings a huff of laughter to Mingi’s lips, to which Yunho chuckles along as though there was no tension thick as an early morning's fog in the air, no way to see through it all. The sun finds its way to reach for each and every water particle dispersed, rays shining unclear as they are. Mingi, so radiant still, even now.

Yunho goes, then, without another word, chucks Mingi’s discarded shirt at him after picking it up from the ground. He vanishes into the bathroom, rids himself of his briefs, and steps into the shower.

Yunho attempts to focus on nothing but the heat of the water around him, on him, concealing his thoughts in a cloud of steam, and tries to clear out his lungs in the process. His heart is racing at lightning speed, maybe even higher, faster, and he needs to steady himself with a hand on the tiled wall beside him.

There is a chance, however slight, that he may have to break a promise. He had been truthful with his intentions, told Mingi only what he believed himself, but sometimes, the unspeakable appears to be the impossible, and impossibilities are not as rare as you might believe for a criminal. Sometimes you bend the rules a little, sometimes others will do it for you.

It leaves you helpless or it leaves you powerful. Sometimes, it leaves you no choice but to act a certain way.

Yunho hopes with all of his might that Mingi has not gotten himself into such a situation. He would never wish to break his vow.

Nor Mingi’s heart.

Once Yunho is finished with his shower, he dries himself with one of the fancy hotel towels, dresses as quickly as he can, and then wipes the condensation on the mirror away. What he discovers beneath is a nebulous image of himself, no different than usual.

He checks for proper functionality of his lungs one last time, inhales, exhales, before he opens the door of the bathroom, steps back into the room and into chaos.

Mingi sits on the bed, fiddling with his thumbs, and Yunho wonders how long he had taken in the shower, if he had kept Mingi waiting for too long by accident. Because the nervous energy in the room has increased tenfold, and Yunho's concern rises with it.

When Mingi spots him, he is up on his feet in an instant, and Yunho can barely take a step away from the doorway before Mingi has already reached him. He appears like a wild animal, frantic, restless.

“Mingi—”

“Spontaneous change of plans,” Mingi interrupts, voice solemn and determined, a stark contrast to his physical disposition. “There’s something I will have to do before I can tell you.”

“What—”

“I can’t—it’s hard to explain, but I cannot tell you what it is,” Mingi says, closing his eyes. Wincing, as though in pain. “We’ll—once I’m back, we will talk, yeah?”

Yunho stares at him, lost for words, and he tries to say, “Let me go with you—”

But Mingi does not allow him the luxury of speaking a whole sentence, shouts, “No!” and pulls him back to the bed, claiming that, “You just let me take care of it, okay? I know exactly what to do, and I’ll—”

Mingi sits him down on the edge of the bed, standing before Yunho who feels immobilized, unable to do or say anything, and then Mingi’s gaze on him changes from near desperation to a gentle wistfulness. He relaxes, just for a moment, holds Yunho’s head in his hands and whispers, in the softest, lowest tone imaginable, “ _Oh_ , look at you, love.”

The kiss Yunho receives tastes bittersweet, tender as it is, and when Mingi pulls back, time stands still for but a second.

So many things written in just one glance, yet Yunho can decipher none of them beneath their core emotions. Something so profoundly sad battles for dominance against a fierce sort of fondness, and it upsets Yunho, upsets him deeply, that he appears to lack the power to liberate Mingi from a war in which neither side seems capable of winning.

It feels entirely wrong when Mingi lets go of him.

Yunho reaches for his wrists, trying to stop him from going.

“Mingi, what is going on?” Yunho says, wondering how asking Mingi to stay led to him on the precipice of leaving.

Mingi turns in Yunho’s grip, moves their fingers so they interlock, and with the loveliest, deadliest voice he replies, “Trust me, please,” and kisses the back of Yunho’s hand with a smile, “In return for your waiting, I’ll get you the best delicacy this planet has to offer.”

Yunho does not know what compels him to let their fingers fall apart, nor what makes him watch as Mingi walks to the door and opens it. He cannot fathom what it is that gives it such a strange, uncomfortable air, suffocating him until all his breaths release is gray smoke.

Through the mist, Yunho calls for him.

“Mingi?”

Mingi stops in the doorway, one last time. Looks at him as though he were apologizing for something.

“Hurry back, will you?” Yunho requests, uncertain.

Unease does not leave him, even as Mingi nods shakily, and replies, “I’ll try.”

The room is empty once the door closes behind Mingi.

Safe for a necklace with a star map, leading home. Mingi shall be lost without it.

Yunho feels quite similar.

**Author's Note:**

> : D
> 
> pls let me know your thoughts in the comment section. i'd say you can expect part two in two months, depending on how well I will do while also having to study all throughout march. 
> 
> this story really has my heart you know, so don't be silent if you liked it. <3 it helps me stay motivated to finish this as soon as I can.
> 
> thank you for reading. <3 take care, stay safe.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/sangiebyheart) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sangiebyheart)


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